


Just Kitten Around

by GodsFool



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Anger, Animal Transformation, BAMF Felicity Smoak, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Just Add Kittens, Kitten Felicity, Magic, Magical Artifacts, More tags later, Mystery, Protective Oliver, Protectiveness, Romantic Comedy, Sassy Felicity Smoak, Shapeshifting, THUMBS!, Violence, ridiculous kitten antics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-12-11 09:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11711691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodsFool/pseuds/GodsFool
Summary: When Felicity Smoak has a terrible day, it ends with her having four paws and a fluffy tail. What the hell is going on?(a/n - multi chapter wonderful fluffy ridiculousness.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexiaBlackbriar13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/gifts).



> Inspired by the animal transformation fics I love, especially our dear puppy!Oliver.

Felicity Smoak, brilliant and petite IT technician, paced restlessly in her cell, wondering where life had gone so horribly wrong. Or at least, why it had gone so horribly wrong this time. She shook her head back and forth, squeezing her eyes shut and letting her blonde mane of curls fly around her face.

Huffing she clenched her hands into fists and released again, gesticulating wildly while she mumbled questions to herself. How had this happened? Why had these men taken her? She didn't know anything about this crap! She was just an ordinary IT girl! Well.. maybe not entirely ordinary. She was a certified genius, after all. But it shouldn't take a genius to figure out that she had no idea what her interrogators were asking for.

The rough men kept asking her inane questions about some ridiculous object. How the hell would she know anything about some statue of Bast? She was an IT specialist, not an archaeologist!

When she had no answers, she got needles. Horrible horrible needles. Well, injections. What the hell were they injecting her with anyway? They burned, sure, and caused her skin to itch and crawl, but it was the needle part that was awful. Why did the torture have to be needles? Her brain went into panic every time and she writhed like a cat on a hot tin roof. Throw in some kangaroos and heights and it'd be like they could see her deepest fears... Wait. On second thought, let's not and say we did. Or didn't. No heights or kangaroos is just fine.

Shuddering, she paused, staring at the blank wall.

When she still couldn't cough up answers after those bouts of torture, they took turns jabbing her tired body with cattle prods. She rubbed her shoulder gingerly where the most recent electricity burns hid beneath her clothes, angry and red and grey. Being electrocuted again and again, even the sharp short bursts they delivered, fracking hurt! They would sit her down in that damned little wooden chair, immobilize her somehow (she couldn't even tell how they held her frozen, the terrified female could not even squirm, but she could scream) and either poke or shock her until she couldn't think straight or even feel anything but numb. Eventually she would just sit stiff as a board in the simple wooden seat. She really hated that chair.

The blonde knew it was pointless to hate an inanimate object, but it was just as pointless to hate the men torturing her for all the good it would do. But she did. She really really did. Hate them, that is. And the chair. Stupid chair. She was allowed to be hateful. It was tooooootally justified, right? Oh yeah. She ever gets a name and wifi access, she'd wreck them for life.

Felicity just ached, her body bruised and scorched in places, and her skin was crawling like it wanted to peel off her body and run away. It just didn't feel like it fit right, and that was an incredibly disconcerting sensation.

Raising her hand to scratch idly behind her ears, Felicity sighed and padded over to her bunk. It was clean, and they had given her clean white scrubs to wear, food, and hygiene products, so they obviously weren't trying to kill her. But how was she supposed to give them what they wanted when she had no idea what they were talking about? Well, at least it was Bast rather than Anubis. Felicity didn't really like dogs, and being tortured over some dog-god would have been worse somehow. She didn't know why, but it would have.

Creaking and footsteps trudging down the hall heralded the arrival of her assailants in front of the grey steel bars to her cell. They looked concerned and uncomfortable. That was a little weird. Usually they looked smug or viciously gleeful or smirk-y. Was smirk-y a word? It sounded like it should be a word. And that really wasn't relevant right now. Guh. C'mon brain, focus! Anyway, if they were concerned and uncomfortable, that did not seem to bode well for her.

As usual, they hauled her out beyond the bars of her cell and down the sterile hall, but instead of taking her right and to the room empty of all but her hated chair and a drain grate in the center of the room (which was actually more intimidating than the pair of idiots who'd kidnapped her), they pushed her left and up a flight of stairs into a room she'd never seen before. They didn't man handle her as much as usual either, just pushing between her shoulder blades in the direction they wanted her to go.

Was it weird that their gentleness was scaring her worse than their viciousness?

Glancing around as she was prodded forward, she quickly took stock of her surroundings. Decked out like a study, complete with big armchairs, bookshelves, and an enormous mahogany desk, the room's centerpiece was a massive flickering granite block fireplace at least eight feet across and six feet high. Outlined in front of the fire stood the figure of a man, all shadows and angles and entirely too dramatic. It was almost soap opera-like, and Felicity bit her lip in an attempt to keep her inner babble from becoming an outer babble involving cheesy soap opera villains.

After several long minutes of the man ignoring her and the silence stretched on and on, the tech girl fidgeted in her bare feet. Feeling expensive carpet on the soles of her feet after days and days of bare cement was both luxurious and distracting. Digging her toes into the plush white shag, she resisted the urge to roll on it. Roll on it? Where the heck did that thought come from?

At long last, just as she was about to open her mouth and launch into what promised to be an epic babble, the man turned and ambled casually towards her. Taller than her, maybe six foot, with pale pale blue eyes like ice chips and shock white hair, he smiled down as she flinched back. Despite her stubbornness, she was unable to stand tall in front of that grin. Yeah, it was that terrifying. This guy was plain creepy.

He straightened the cuff of one impeccable sleeve as he looked her over. Tucking his hands in his pockets, Creepy tilted his head and studied the petite woman standing before him. "You know, Miss Smoak... I really do think you don't know about our task or our search after all."

Choking back a relieved sob, she opened her mouth as she could no longer hold back her inner monologue dying to get out - but then he finished his sentence, killing her words before they had even begun.

"So we really have no more use for you."

Her mouth snapped shut and her body tensed and froze. "Are... Are you going to kill me then?"

Ice-Eyes-Guy tilted his head, still smiling that cheerful shark smile. "Awww, Miss Smoak, why would I do that when I can make an example of you?"

Whipping his right hand up, palm out, she felt all her limbs freeze in place as he tilted his head sideways at her curiously with his dead stare. Felicity's eyes widened - it was the only part of her that she COULD move. She could blink and move her bright baby blues to look around, but otherwise it was as if she was locked in cement.

Reaching out, he gently stroked her frozen cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering in revulsion. His fingertips were cold and felt like utter horror, leaving invisible brands soaking into her skin like greasy oil. Felicity knew she'd remember his terrible touch in her nightmares for a very long time. Well. As least as long as she lived anyway. Which may not be all that long... Frack.

Still smiling that terrible shark smile, he dramatically drew a step back and brought up his other hand, brandishing...

...A cat collar.

What?

No, a kitten collar?

The color of her favorite pink lipstick...

What? No, wait.. What the hell? He's going to choke her to death with a cat collar?

Ice-Eyes held up the leather collar and showed her the name tag with a tiny metal jingle bell. One side of the strange oily finished metal circle just a bit smaller than a quarter read "Felix Hominus" with a weird symbol engraved on it and the other side read "Felicity Megan Smoak".

Oh great Google. This has got to be the most embarrassing way to die ever. It's like he was taking great joy in humiliating her. Dick. He drew it out as he gently reached around her throat, trailing his fingertips along her skin. Yeah, the thing had to be for a kitten, it was far too small for a human, even one so petite as the blonde IT tech.

Yet somehow he made it fit. She couldn't see how, but it made an echo-y click and snap and it was quite snug. But not snug enough to restrict her air flow.

Felicity looked up, confused. Sharktapus - Hah! Yeah, she was calling Mr. Shark-Grin here Sharktapus from now on - brushed some messy curls out of her eyes and tucked them behind her ear. Stroking her hair softly before speaking, he was truly condescending - like she was a fracking pet! Or a misbehaving child!

"Now now, be a good girl. Don't touch the collar. Don't bring attention to the collar."

He motioned to his cronies, who stepped forward again, still looking nervous.

"Time for your last shot, my dear Felicity."

The young genius felt an uncomfortable prick, and a burning tingling started spreading through her veins from the injection site.

Sharktapus smiled his dead-eyed smile and looked at her almost fondly.

"You really have no idea, do you my dear?"

He waved his hand again, and a feeling like someone turned her spine into a compressed accordion ripped through her body along with the burn. Her mouth and vocal chords were immobilized, but in her mind, she was screaming.

"You have no idea how very special you are."

It was the last thing she could comprehend through the pain before she blacked out.

\--------------------------------------------------------

The rattle-trap of a car they were riding in hitting a massive pothole jostled Felicity awake. She wished she hadn't. Everything hurt. Everything. She was jarred from side to side as they hit more potholes - this was one heck of a shitty street.

Groggily, she eventually became coherent enough to recognize she was wrapped head to toe in some kind of incredibly thick blanket that blocked out any light. Voices from the front seat gradually became recognizable as words.

The two idiots who'd kidnapped her were arguing.

"How bout I just keep her?"

Keep her...keep me? Oh HELL no! Felicity shuddered, still not quite able to command her limbs to move. The very thought of being held personally by one of those sociopaths was utterly terrifying. She didn't know if they'd been restrained when she was in her cell. Which was an uncomfortable thought because they'd tortured her with cattle prods. If that was restrained, she didn't want to know what they'd do if they had free reign.

"You can't man, the boss will know!"

Yes. Freedom. Listen to that dude. That dude who sounded utterly terrified of his boss, which was probably Sharktapus.

"But she's just so cute! I'll take good care of her..."

Ice dumped into her veins as terrified adrenaline flooded her system. She doesn't like the sound of that at all. It was, in fact, creepy as hell.

"No! I'm not risking it! And neither should you. You want what happened to her to happen to you? I'm not sticking my neck out for you! You'll get us both killed. Or worse."

Wait... happened to me? What happened to me? The torture? Ugh. Yeah. I'm trying to forget the cattle prods...

"O..Okay... It just feels wrong man, dumping her here."

Weirdest henchman ever. They tortured her for hours, interrogated her over crap she knew nothing about, and they felt bad about leaving her somewhere? Yikes. There was only one place in Starling City with streets this bad and even the bad guys didn't really like. I'm getting set free in the glades.... so I can call the police and go home... Oh who am I kidding. The police don't come in here, especially after nightfall. Maybe I'll have to hoof it.

"Frank, you've killed people, tortured people, seen Darhk do terrible things beyond reckoning to people, and you can't do this?"

That's what I just said! Err... thought. Wait, dark? Dark what? Is that a code name? It's kind of a terrible code name if it is. Talk about cliche. Dark Horse? Dark Fire? Dark Heart? Dark Shark? Oh, I like that one.

"It just doesn't feel right. Dumping such an adorable pussycat right where the big dogs live?"

Frack. Big Dogs? Crap on a crap cracker. Is that a gang? Mob bosses? Slang for some bad dudes? She'd better be ready to run... Squirming, the blanket was wrapped tightly around her. Felicity couldn't get her arms to completely obey her, either, which was incredibly frustrating.

The feeling of weightlessness was sudden and the constriction of the blanket tightened. One of the idiots probably reached back and bodily lifted her and the blanket she was wrapped in. Damn these guys were strong! The young blonde was suddenly very glad they'd never physically hit her.

The car slowed briefly, and she felt quite strange as she felt herself suddenly being tossed - flying through the air, spending far FAR too long being airborne before landing in a heap of blanket with a sore ass.

They didn't even stop the car! She could hear the engine getting fainter and fainter as they sped off. Assholes. Groaning, she tried to untangle herself from the blankets, but it felt like she was all thumbs. That or the blanket was made from a cuddly octopus. Now that was a tie between adorable or really creepy. Maybe both.

Her eyes were squeezed shut as she breathed heavily. Whatever drugs they gave her took a while to wear off, it seemed. Her whole body felt bizarre. At least her skin didn't feel like it wanted to crawl off her body anymore. After a surprisingly long and intense battle with the incredibly thick and heavy blanket, her body being terribly clumsy and disobedient (which was really saying something, considering she wasn't exactly the world's most graceful individual in the first place), Felicity finally managed to get out from under the fluffy monstrosity and let the cool air hit her face.

It smelled terrible. Like seriously, what was rotting nearby? It was atrocious, and really was aggravating her nose. She sneezed, and the sound was ...cuter than normal.

What?

Her eyes snapped open, and everything just looked wrong. Everything was giant sized. What the frack was happening?! How could everything grow so big like this? It was insane! Or... or she shrank? Oh god.

Almost numb with shock, she paused, shaking her head. No no no no! This could not be happening! Wait. The petite woman shook her head again. Felicity could no longer feel her ponytail. Trying to reach back, she suddenly realized something was wrong with her arms, and she overbalanced and practically fell over.

What the hell? Was she on all fours?

Feeling panic rising in her chest, Felicity started yelling for help, but only heard mewing.

Mewing?!

Oh no. No no no.

She looked down. Tiny white paws.

She looked behind her. Fluffy white tail and long poofy fur.

Fumbling over to a nearby puddle the size of a small pond, Felicity gulped and stared at her reflection. All that stared back was a fluffy white-ish kitten with her bright blue eyes and dark brown marks that looked sort of like her glasses. Like Siamese points but...not.

She was a kitten. An adorable kitten, Himalayan or Ragdoll maybe, but a fracking kitten.

I can't even wrap my brain around this. Like, how can I be a kitten? THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

There was a movement in front of her as a drop hit the puddle like someone tossing a fifty pound sack into a body of water, splashing ripples up to her tiny toes.

Frack. Frack frack frack! And now it's gonna rain? How can this day get worse?

It dripped again, and a massive reflection materialized above her own in the water. It was a dog. A big dog. A mutt, but it had to be at least part German Shepard. It was the size of a fucking two story house compared to her, and it's mouth was bigger than her head. Hell, it's mouth was bigger than most of her body. It wasn't rain, it was dog drool.

Smooth Felicity. You just had to ask, didn't you?

Suddenly the conversation in the car made a lot more sense. Horrifying sense.

The beasts lips drew back in a snarl and a low growl as loud as thunder started in it's throat.

Fuck.


	2. What the Cat Dragged In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver finds a kitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Really short chapter. I needed some fluff in my life. Read the Chapter notes in the next chapter of The Strong Do Not Always End Up On Top for an update on why I've vanished for a bit. Plus, it's a good fic. :-)

Caterwauling was perhaps the best word Oliver could think of to describe the racket coming from the dimly lit alley a few blocks from Verdant. Normally he would just ignore the stray dogs fighting and the clatter of garbage cans on brick and cement, but this time he could hear something different. Tiny, angry, screechy, utterly terrified mews were interspersed through the loud barks, snarls, and growls.

Oliver Queen, archer and big bad vigilante, had a soft spot for underdogs. Or in this case, under-cats. Glancing up and down the street, he saw no movement this late in the evening, no witnesses to see him creep towards the sounds of a fight. Even if it was just a fight between strays.

The Emerald Archer drove his bike towards the alley entrance, cutting the engine and letting momentum carry him further into the grimy alleyway lit dimly by the distant street lights. Suddenly the canine snarls turned into a scream and a pained yipe, and a mutt dashed past with its tail between its legs and a slash across its eyelid and it's tender nose.

Well would you look at that. Maybe the cat didn't need a rescue after all. He held his breath, listening carefully and allowing his senses to take in as much as he could.

The tiny mews continued, quieter, pained, and the Arrow dismounted, frowning. That didn't sound like a cat. That was smaller. Stalking quietly forward, he approached a large green rusted dumpster lining the alley wall. The mews had stopped, but he could hear the movement and stumbling of four tiny uncoordinated feet. Peering behind the dumpster into the crack between it and the brick wall, he saw a kitten. A small, wet, extremely dirty, injured kitten was leaning unsteadily on the wall as it panted heavily. It's left hind leg had been bitten, and the kitten held it stretched out as if moving it hurt.

Eyes closed, it didn't seem to notice him. Quickly and quietly, Oliver's arm shot out and gripped the kittens scruff, causing it to squeak in surprise as it's body instinctively balled up. It whimpered and cringed and shivered as Oliver held it up in front of him. Fixing it's bright blue angry and frightened eyes on his, it tried to puff up and hiss.

Something in the archer's chest tightened while something else nameless loosened up. This tiny creature was trying to put up a brave front and intimidate him. It was ... adorable. Tucking the little wet mop of fur against his leather clad chest, he supported the kitten's butt and hind legs and whispered soothingly.

"Hey little guy, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm gonna take care of your leg, ok? It's still bleeding."

The little dirty furry rag squeaked as Oliver touched the creature's leg.

"I know, I know, it probably hurts a lot. But for now I need you to relax. I'm gonna tuck you in my jacket now. You promise not to claw me to death? You've got sharp little feet."

With a deep breath, the dirty little beast went limp against him. Taking it as an odd acquiescence (cause really, it wasn't like the kitten understood him), he unzipped his jacket and cuddled the kitten close to his broad chest. It squirmed as he zipped the jacket back up, not stopping until it could peek it's tiny head out the very top.

Oliver sighed and remounted his ducati. Kicking it into gear, he drove out of the alleyway and towards Verdant. If only the criminal element could see him now. The Arrow, deadly and cold, emotionless. Who rescued kittens.

"What's got you smiling like that?" John Diggle's voice interrupted his thoughts as he descended into Verdant's basement. Glancing up, he saw the big African American man leaning against the computer table. Pushing off it, the man took a few steps forward before he stopped, eyes fixed on Oliver's collar with a strange look on his face. "Is that... a kitten?"

The little thing squirmed, laying it's giant ears back against it's tiny head.

"Oh my god, it is. Let me see it! It's so cute."

John reached towards the archer's jacket, smiling, and the tiny thing puffed up again. Laughing, the ex-army officer scratched gently along it's head. Obviously the kitten was having none of that shit, because it hissed again and ducked back down into Oliver's green leather jacket.

Oliver smirked - the kitten obviously liked him better - as both he and John nearly giggled outright at the little creature's antics. It was still buried in the archer's jacket, worming it's way around between his black tee and the leather, looking much like the vigilante had a strange mobile growth under his clothes or a chest burster about to pop out.

Taking pity on the critter once it started crying again, the former playboy unzipped his jacket and cradled the peeping kitten in it's folds.

"It got hurt by a dog in the alley, Dig. You should have seen it. This great big dog goes yelping by with a cut on it's nose and eyes. Heck, you would have thought a tiger did it. But no, there was just this little wet mop."

The kitten growled at him as he carried it over to the med table.

"Hush you. We have to look at your leg." Gently grabbing ahold of it around the chest, he attempted to pull said wet little mop out of his jacket and place it on the cold steel.

Again, the kitten was having none of that. It latched it's claws into Oliver's black shirt and held on for dear life.

"Ow. Dammit. Let go. We have to look at your leg! Dig, help me here?"

Oliver puller on the kitten while Dig carefully removed it's claws from Oliver's shirt. The little thing was sticking to him like velcro. Finally, the pair of big strapping men managed to detach the kitten and set it gently on the med table. Where it promptly curled into a tiny ball and continued crying piteously, holding it's hurt leg out to it's side.

Dig leaned close, checking over the bites in the tiny cat's leg, and frowned. "Doesn't look like there's broken bones, but we should clean, splint, and wrap them anyway. Some antibiotics to make sure it doesn't get an infection would be a good idea. Once we numb the leg, I wanna get a closer look at the lacerations. I'd like to make sure they're just surface based and the dog didn't tear up it's muscles."

Meanwhile, the kitten sat there, watching them with giant blue eyes, huddled on it's tiny paws. Now that it was under a light and drying off a bit, Oliver could tell that the things fur was actually supposed to be white, not this filthy grey of the alley dirty. Also, to his sudden and unexpected disappointment, it had a collar.

The Archer lifted the shivering kitten's chin, stroking along the bedraggled fur to examine the poor things smooth black collar. It wasn't the traditional flat leather, it was rounded, maybe a little too thick for such a small kitten, but seemed to fit perfectly. The buckle and medallion seemed to be made of either burnished steel or silver. It was difficult to tell because of the odd sheen. There was something off about it, but Oliver couldn't put his finger on what exactly was wrong.

On the front in elegant curved script was etched "Lucky Smoke", and on the back it said "Felicity Smoak".

Tilting his head, Oliver sighed, feeling oddly bereft. Wait... he didn't -want- the kitten, did he? There were odd and uncomfortable feelings in his chest that he didn't want to address right then.

"Well Lucky, I guess we should get you back to Felicity, huh?"


End file.
